The House of the Red Slayer

of poor Tosspot and bury it as you think fit.’
    ‘Father, it’s not my...’
    ‘Do it!’ Athelstan snarled. ‘Do it now or answer to the City Coroner, Sir John Cranston!‘
    ‘He has no jurisdiction here.‘
    ‘Yes, but he can get it!’ Athelstan retorted. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, man, do it for me. Do it for poor Tosspot, please?’
    Bladdersniff stared, nodded, and strode away.
    Athelstan walked back to St Erconwald’s. He had recognised one of the houses down near the riverside and remembered how cleanly and sharply the limb had been cut. This stirred memories of his own military experience in the makeshift hospitals of the old King’s armies in France. Athelstan thought of the cemetery. Where were the lepers? Why hadn’t they noticed anything? Athelstan remembered the lepers he had seen near St Paul’s the day he and Cranston had visited Geoffrey Parchmeiner. Their begging dishes!
    Athelstan stopped in the middle of Lad Alley. ‘Oh, my God!’ he whispered. ‘Oh, sweet pity’s sake!’ The white chalk he had found on his fingers after Mass when he and young Crim had pushed the sacred host through the leper’s squint... The friar suddenly felt weak and leaned against the urine-stained wall. Other memories flooded back. ‘Of course!’ he whispered to himself. ‘That’s why the cemetery wasn’t disturbed for a while. The thaw! But when the river was frozen they couldn’t get rid of what they’d stolen.’ Athelstan’s face contorted into a sudden snarl. ‘The bastards!‘ he hissed. ‘The evil bastards!‘
    He strode back down Lad Alley into one of the busy thoroughfares which ran parallel to the river bank. A young urchin, running after a ball, bumped into him, slipping and sliding on the icy slush. Athelstan seized him tightly by the shoulder until the boy winced.
    ‘Father, Father, I didn’t mean to! Honest, I didn’t!’ Athelstan looked at the urchin’s pallid face.
    ‘I am sorry,’ he replied gently. ‘No hurt was intended. But here, lad. For a penny, take me to Doctor Vincentius’ house. You know the physician?’
    The boy didn’t know Vincentius and shook his head, but ran to a local stall-holder who provided clear instructions. The urchin then led Athelstan through an alleyway and into a quiet street of houses, grand, half-timbered affairs, though their paint was now peeling and their unwashed facades gave sad, mute witness to grander, more prosperous days. The boy pointed to the third one down with its windows shuttered, though the huge front door was freshly painted and reinforced with shining bands of steel. Athelstan handed the penny over, went across and pounded on the door until he heard the patter of quick footsteps and the bolts drawn back. A lank-haired young man opened the door, dressed in a blue cote-hardie fringed with squirrel fur. His eyes widened in alarm when he saw the friar.
    ‘Brother Athelstan!‘
    ‘How do you know my name, you bastard?’ the friar shouted, and pushed him back against the wall. ‘Where is Doctor Vincentius?’
    ‘He’s in his chamber.’
    Athelstan didn’t wait for the fellow to usher him in but strode along the lime-washed stone corridor and threw open the door at the far end. Vincentius was sitting behind a great oaken desk in his warm, dark, panelled chamber. Athelstan was aware of shelves stuffed full of parchments, a zodiac chart on the wall, the smell of herbs and spices, and a small log fire crackling merrily in the hearth. The doctor rose, his dark eyes guarded, tawny face creased into a smile.
    ‘Brother Athelstan! What is the matter? What can I do... ?’
    ‘This for a start!’ Athelstan punched the doctor as hard as he could, sending Vincentius sprawling against the wall, knocking over a small table and sending a yellowing skull crashing on to the map-strewn floor. The doctor got up and dabbed at the cut at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. His dark eyes now mocked the priest.
    ‘You seem in a temper, Father?’
    Athelstan heard the young man come up behind him.
    ‘It’s all right, Gidaut,’ Vincentius murmured. ‘But perhaps we’d better start to pack once again.’
    Athelstan glared at the doctor as the door closed softly behind him.
    ‘You are a bastard, Doctor! A heretic! A despoiler of graves! I have just seen what’s left of poor Tosspot’s corpse. If the wardsman had any sense he would be here with the city guard. Only a skilled physician could cut a leg so cleanly.’ He walked